They would know why I don’t tell anyone how I feel. I protect them by letting them

think all is well in the world when In reality it is truly not.

You haven’t lived until you have smelled that fresh blood smell

You haven’t lived until you have tangled with death

Once you smell fresh blood you stop living though

You haven’t lived until you have seen another grown man take another man’s life with his bare hands

You haven’t lived until you’ve seen two men stabbing each other trying take the other’s life, and you willingly jump in the middle to save both of them because well, that’s your job and you secretly enjoy it

You haven’t lived until you run into a 15 man gang fight and have a warning shot fly

past your head on multiple occasions.

You never forget that crack of a .223 flying by your head because the

asshole in the tower has tunnel vision.

You don’t know frustration until you have to walk past maniacs in a cell every half an

hour and get piss and Shit thrown on you and you have to keep walking by.

Do you enjoy the risk?

Do you enjoy the adrenaline?

You don’t want to get hurt but you know if you do get hurt that will give you the excuse to beat the shit out of one of them

You haven’t lived until you have felt that high of being in a life or death situation and coming out on top

There is no greater feeling.

How do you exercise the demons which haunt your every move?

How do you escape the reality of death when it happens In front of you so often?

I’ll tell you how..you sack the fuck up and move out,

The difference between you and everyone else is that you can handle all of it.

It’s almost nothing to you

Is that scary?

Is that bad? That you understand there are bad people in the world and people die?

How do you listen to a grown man brag about raping a toddler and pissing on her, and then go home and joke with your family?

Then how do you see that man nearly an hour later almost beaten to death and you have to try and save his life?

You just FUCKING do it

Is it bad that it’s not hard for you anymore? That you don’t give a Shit?

Your only goal is to protect them, so you vowed to yourself to never share those stores with them.

The only scars I have from working in a prison are the mental scares. I got out lucky, and I got out in time.

I can deal with the mental scares because no one can see them, so it is easy to move on in life.

It’s a lot easier pretending you’re fine when you wake up from a nightmare, rather than telling them what it was about.

You can’t Imagine the look on their face if you were to tell them.

Once you see another man try and take another’s life you stop living

The world stops right?

Nope you just go home and pretend you didn’t Just witness a tragedy

You do it to protect them, because you know you can handle bottling it up more than they can handle hearing those words come from your mouth.

How do you do a round at midnight in the pitch black and see a man swinging from a rope by his neck in his cell and his face as purple as midnight itself with his lifeless eyes peering into my soul as if his is trying to find a place to go. Then go home a few hours later and laugh and joke over breakfast.

The day I witnessed another man lunge and continuously drive a sharp piece of metal into the other’s neck/face I stopped living, my world stopped turning.

But didn’t anyone else’s world stop along with mine?

What’s insane isn’t these men. It’s the fact that I am okay with keeping all these memories to myself to protect the people around me. It gives me joy knowing I am protecting them from hell on earth.

If god exists why does he allow things like this to happen?

If god doesn’t exist why isn’t there a god to prevent things like this from happening?

The sooner you accept the universe is a cold dark place that doesn’t give a Shit about you is the day you really start living, because you realize none of it matters.

Again, I am okay with keeping it all inside because I know I can handle it.

If only if only they could see what I’ve seen

if only if only they could hear what I’ve heard.

If only if only they could smell what I’ve smelled.

Maybe they would understand why I can’t sleep anymore or why I awaken every night sweating and trying to be quiet because I am embarrassed.